Gazlene: Pizza and Video games
by Beloved Psychopath
Summary: Life and all, from the Gaz perspective.
1. Zen

**Disclaimer: The disclaimer saying that Gaz and Invader Zim are not creations of mine has traveled to France. It just had to have some of their strawberry crepes and hot croissants at this time of the year. **

Zen

Olives, pepperoni and cheese... A Bloaty's Pizza Hog masterpiece fresh from the store. The delicious steam wafting from the open box warmed my face. Ah... You don't order medium if you're getting a just-out-of-the-oven Olives, pepperoni and cheese. You order large. Extra-large.

My tummy rumbled, and I hastily took a slice, a gooey, heavenly slice, and dug in. Paradise! To take a bite is to inhale the world...

My breath fogs. The cold air sips beneath my skin, piercing my bones. I shiver, relaxed. The A.C. temperature set to freezing. The calm sinking into me. The incense or perhaps metaphysical silence to my game-playing meditation.

Peace is gotten by the pressing of buttons, passing of time.

It's been a long day (a whole seven hours of it) and I just want to play my new Game Slave 2 uninterrupted.

I pop a soda to wash my stuffed mouthful. Not a diet soda or coke zero, I'm not punishing myself. Or pretending to. If you're worried about sugar content, drink water. And not soda water or a watery fruity mix (or-gah-even alcohol); drink regular clean zero calories water. H2O zero.

Fingers flash, buttons tapped. I'm floating on gamer's high.

I've connected the Game Slave 2 to the TV for maximum "at-home" gaming experience.

Time passes.

The pizza's gone cold, there's only one slice left.

Outside.

It's hard to tell if it's late afternoon or early evening from inside. The room is dark and the curtains are closed. It could be night. I've been here for hours.

The room is illuminated by flashing lights from the TV screen. I'm playing on mute. There's no sound but the pressing of buttons and my heart beating.

Covered up, beneath the blanket. All I have are my video games.

Alone…

Alone.

I'm all alone.

Again.

Outside...

I can hear the sound of rain.


	2. Skyline

**Disclaimer: Turn right, then left; the disclaimer disclaiming that Gaz and Invader Zim are not a creations of mine is 2km ahead. **

Skyline

I stood, gazing at the sunset. Watching the sun fall... The day die... The light soften and dim, painting the sky with vivid strokes... Freeing the moon. A daily masterpiece well displayed above the lines of the city.

I blew gently at my tea, the steam coiling through the air like the wisp of a dream, a fading divination. Taking it all in... The scents of orange and jasmine rich in my nostrils mixed with the smell of a windy, cool evening. Closing my eyes, lost in my thoughts; the world stood still.

I took a sip. A little one. The liquid flavour running down my throat. The explosion of sensation. Warmth. There was no sound except the wind blowing and cars moving far down below. No footsteps on the air or echoes of thought wishing to break the mental solitude. The internal silence. No Dib. No aliens. No crazy father. Just peace and... Perhaps I should have pizza tonight. Maybe vegetarian with beef. I finish my tea and enjoy the passing of day.

The shadows shift with the changing light. The moon rises and reigns supreme. The sun has gone. The sky is our backdrop. I love skylines.

A.N:

I'll love your reviews!


	3. Thoughtful questions

**Disclaimer: Gaz ate the disclaimer saying that Invader Zim and she are not creations of mine with pizza and a side of fries. Enjoy! **

Thoughtful questions

Despite our differences we are all the same, but strip us of everything that makes us who we are, and underneath we are not the same. For each of us is a singular existence; to each of us everyone else is existential, "I think, therefore I am".

We are aware that we think, but do others think? Are we truly aware of the thoughts within their minds? Do they really exist?

Do rocks think? If no, how do they exist? Do they exist? What is thought?

And even more...

Why does society work hard at blaming everything but themselves for their problems, yet claim the solutions of others as their own?

Why is "maturity" a big deal, when it's only a relative social expression whose meaning tends to change in way that is advantageous to the "mature" user?

Contrary to preferred belief, maturity has nothing whatsoever to do with age, sex, gender and experience. It has nothing to do with the way a child is raised (ironically though surprise, immaturity does, amongst other things) after all the parent(s) themselves maybe immature, viewing themselves as mature. Sadly, maturity has nothing to do with intelligence, but you're outlook and perspective. Maturity is flawed.

Why does an obsessive, hypocritical buffoon believe that he is all that stands between the Earth and world domination (or invasion) by an incompetent, self-deluded egoistic green skinned alien, who is a known disgrace to his entire species?

Why should I care?

Why?

Why does society demand

I care

When it willingly chooses

To remain ignorant

To actual reality?

We cloak our indifference

With false smiles

And try to convince ourselves

That what we see

On each other

Is

real.

The line to the cashing point is very slow and long; a complete bother.

Good thing I'm at the front.


	4. Ravens and Crows

**Disclaimer: The disclaimer popped out to get a slice of pizza (cause it's cheap), so I'm telling you that I do not own Invader Zim- presently.**

Ravens and Crows

Black birds.

The air is lit with the scent of autumn. At least it will be in a few months (or weeks).

Drowning in the fall of leaves.

Burning with the gentle glow of oranges, maroons and browns.

Under the watchful eyes of the ravens and crows.

Black birds.

Lit by the warmth of sunset

The sweet calling of dusk.

The crackling of footsteps

The crisp scent of the wind.

Black birds.

Lately I've been seeing black birds everywhere.

The ravens and the crows.

Unkindnesses and Murders.

The air vibrating with croaks, caws and beating wings.

Feathers falling like snow.

My hands move, sketching all that lie within my gaze.

I took a bite of pizza, a gulp of soda

Watching the birds circling high above.

Moving in intricate patterns

Like a daydream.

Captured in the light of the diving sun.

Gathering beneath the endless sky.

Riding the hollow, whispering winds.

The shadows are their wings.

I watched the enigmatic avians fly, circle and glide...

Making me wonder whether to order chicken suya with extra green peppers and red chili, or barbecue, chili and cheese Hawaiian chicken bali with tikka sauce at Bloaty's Pizza Hog for dinner with chips.

Bringers of the hallowed night.

The dead's day.

Seeing them reminded me of an old superstitious poem:

Rhyme of the Raven

"One is for sorrow,

Two for mirth,

Three for a wedding,

Four for birth,

Five for rich,

Six for poor,

Seven for a witch,

I can tell you no more."

There were over 34 ravens. Go figure.

I wonder if there's a witch convention, or the Morrigan has come to town. Probably both, along with a duel empires bird invasion and a supernatural global crisis.

...

...

...

Not my problem.

The cold wind blew my hair backwards, cooling my pale skin.

Fingers moved, pencils danced, as I rethought my dinner choice.

Sunset became dusk. The shadows rising.

I'll have a caprese pizza prepared with tikka sauce, red chili and corn, with half the tomatoes replaced by grilled chicken and maybe, mushrooms. No chips. I'll have breadsticks instead. Or maybe not. Hmm.

I toast my soda to the black birds.

Author's note:

The "Rhyme of the Raven" is an old poem, not unlike "Monday's Child".


	5. Full moon

**Disclaimer: The disclaimer say that Invader Zim and Gaz are not my creations is attending a union meeting, so I guess you can believe they are. Here's to another one!**

Full moon

I saw the full moon.

Ancient tonight,

Rather than new.

Weary.

Alien.

Dimly glowing

Rather than sliver-bright.

The ancestral god of wolves.

Eye of the elder world.

Dad's home today. Well, home at prison.

Dib is using a telescope to try and spy on Zim.

He needs to get out more.

I'm taking a break from gaming (I'll pick up from where I left tomorrow).

It's 11:58. Give or take a few minutes, most likely the later.

There's only one soda left in the fridge.

I'll save it for breakfast.

There's nothing else for breakfast.

I'll have to get burritos early tomorrow.

Or head over to Bloaty's Pizza Hog if I wake up late.

Or I feel like taking another soda.

I'm in the state between boredom and numbness. A sort of lonely apathy. No, a feeling of singular existence.

Eternal solitude.

A one-way reality.

Entropy or eternity.

I laid on the grass, outside. Watching the stars.

The blinking lights.

Far away fireflies.

And the cars going by far, far below.

My eyes close, ears listening to the wind.

Who knows the sequence of the cosmos.

The nature of existence.

From here...

In my mind...

I can see the unending vastness of space.

None of this is real.


	6. Salad

**Disclaimer: Sorry, but the disclaimer is not here at the moment, please leave a message after the beep. *Beep***

Salad

There was a knock at the door.

The sweet, melancholic sound of violins playing, like dripping crystals or frozen rain, drifted through the room.

Then another.

I laid on my bedroom floor drawing a comic about a sociopath who was an illogically reasonable girl that lives with cats and wants to sacrifice her mother to the devil, as well as thwart the Divine Plan (whatever that is). She patented the world-renowned 'Silent Scowl Before The World Ends' and 'the Grim Look of Deathly Fury'.

A piano and viola join the chilling melody, the eerie sirenic tune.

My hand danced over the paper. I was presently working on a chapter where she amusingly thinks of giving cannibalism a go, but decides that vegetarianism was founded on prejudiced sadism and thinly veiled denial of the suffering of unseen (and unheard) others- the highly flawed excuse that plants "can't feel pain" (socially supported cruelty to plants).

Alluring wordless vocals accompanied by haunting bass and gentle drums trickled in and mixed, creating a musical maelstrom. Liquid captivation.

There was another knock at the door, followed by a call:

"Gaz?"

It was Dib.

Normally he tries to enter without bothering to knock, failing to notice the significance of the door, except only as a temporary inconvenience in his way.

This proves that you can teach an old dog new tricks. Even a dead one.

"What?" I asked, carefully colouring the page where she was certain that she was being followed by Italian ninjas who she believed wanted a cut from her theoretical lemonade stand empire, or a shadow sect of closeted imperialist-communists who wished to ask her "pointed questions" about her findings on rare and exotic mystery meat and its connection to the pro-globalism movement.

"Can I ask you something?"

"..."

"..."

"..."

"Gaz?"

"...Let's pretend that you didn't just ask me one," I wearily drone, "Go ahead."

"Can you help me drop off a package on the third bench in the park- you know the one close to the water fountain that no one seems to notice- this afternoon at 4:20? It's very confidential and for the Screaming Eyeball, I don't want Zim to know about it in case he's having me tailed or worst, uses my absence to put a nefarious plan into action!"

"... ... ... Don't make me hurt you."

"I'll take you to Bloaty's Pizza Hog for dinner."

"... ... ..."

"For 2 weeks! Though only on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, I'm running low on cash."

"Deal."

The air was moved with the fluid sound of pipes masterfully played. Molecules weeping. The storm growing.

I stood up and went to open the door.

"The package?" I asked, glancing at his hands.

"It'll be arriving here in an hour. Thanks sis!" he nervously cheered, taking another spoonful from his cup of cherry-flavored yogurt while slowly backing away.

I glared at him before closing the door.

A prank?

Not likely.

Definitely a smuggling operation scam.

Or a diversion.

My stomach rumbled.

Or an "ingenious" test.

Sigh.

The vocals increased in pitch and number, gliding to the sound of the saxophone. Everything else became background noise.

'Better head over to the kitchen for a snack.

I picked up my Game Slave 2, then switched off the stereo.

**Rrummmmble!**

Sigh.

There should be some hotdogs and a few cans of soda in the fridge. Hopefully, a pack of chips too.

There wasn't. Guess I'll have milk.

"That pizza will eventually kill you! Have a salad."

"No."

"At least have a vegan."

"No."

"You're eating the needless deaths of thousands!"

"So are you."

"At least eat only your chips!"

"... ... ...You know that they are fried in bacon oil, right?"

"Mine aren't."

"You're in the pizza diner of Gluttony; you can never be too sure," I drone.

"If eating your vegetables is good for you, imaging what turning vegetarian would do to you!"

"It's that kind of logic that caused pollution."

I was in Bloaty's Pizza Hog enjoying a well-deserved maleficent megaslice of onions, beef and cheese, sitting opposite my white-dressed counterpart in appearance, a somewhat slightly older French-looking girl and fellow patron called Carrabelle... Something-or-the-other (we've never exchanged last names and pretty much learnt each other's name from the mouth of others). I think she's of Viking ancestry, with a hint of Hun. I came here to chill after dropping of the package at the bench to be picked up by a certain gourmet vampire or some random passerby.

"Just for a single hamburger patty, more than 500 trees in the Amazon are cut down. Hundreds, if not thousands of cattle die just for the sake of producing stakes daily!" she said, "Besides an all plant diet is lighter and healthier!"

"Really, there's no difference between cattle-owning and slavery, except eating their meat openly wouldn't be considered cannibalism and presently you can't get them to do all your work," I replied.

"Being a vegetarian not for the sake of a diet, to appear healthy, as a means to avoid death after weakening our bodies ,or to claim some form of superiority, is not very popular in a capitalist society... Or any profit-oriented, self-centered or superficial society. However, the journey of a thousand miles begins with a reliable form of transportation. Break our self-destroying pattern, don't be a slave to it."

"Slavery still exists, apart from in its normal form, as modern slavery which consists of truly unpaid charity workers, very low income "jobs" of existential pay days and wages (like working in a sweat shop), and corporate working or slavery. Also, meat is good for you and good ol' Adolf was a vegetarian."

"Slavery? We are going off topic," Carrabelle said taking a sip from her soda, "Wait a sec, Hitler was vegetarian?!"

Whether or not we exist, the world revolves.

"Who picks the fruits and vegetables you eat? Flying monkeys?"

Within each mind different thoughts. Within each thought, traces of a similar mind.

"... ... ... It doesn't damage the global ecological environment as much."

"Does becoming a vegetarian stop wars? Prevent human greed? Promote sincere long-term environmental concern?"

How does one dance to the music of the spheres?

"It will help us live longer, and more people will be concerned about the environment," she said.

How does one hear the stars sing? How does one listen to Existence breath?

"Because we're not killing ourselves in different ways. Besides, we're "concerned" about global warming as well," I deadpanned.

We walk this lonely road called life. We travel down this crossroad called reality. We journey across this projective plain called existence. Where we're going, we no longer know.

There was a completive silence as we both considered, then mourned the questionable waste of sentience.

"It'll be better if we were all vegetarians," Carrabelle sighed.

"Damage will still be done to the environment. Bad enough that we maim, rape and kill nature, and try to drive it out and enslave it, we complain when nature does the same thing to us."

"True, but then we always complain. There'll be no need to hunt and hurt animals for food, no need to ruin our forests and jungles for farming space, no need for needless killing."

How does one dance to the music of the spheres?

"Plants feel pain too. How can they not when they can receive pleasure and pain stimuli? What seems to matter is that you cannot hear it. You dismiss it when they bleed. It is not "blood", therefore its alright. You cannot hear them scream. We're an egotist species with an exaggerated sense of grandeur and limited perspectives."

For the happiness of one, many must suffer.

"Since we have to eat something, why not eat what will beneficial for us and do the least harm?" she smiled, taking another forkful of chips and salad.

"True."

Pleasant daydreams easily become hellish nightmares when made reality.

Slaves to the elusive perfection.

A flaw in the great machine.

"What do you think will really happen if we all turned vegetarian?"

She opened her mouth to speak, paused, thought carefully, and with a look of confused dismay, thought again, then looking down, went back to eating her food.

Finishing my pizza, I stood up.

"Later then," I said with a smile.

She slightly smiled back and waved with her mouthful, before taking a gulp from her soda.

"Keep cool."

"I'll pay my tab tonight," I told Neil, who was on break at the arcades.

He nodded, not looking up.

"Bye Gaz, 'till night then."

"Yeah. Bye."

I turned around and left the Pizza Hog, the door swinging shut behind me.

Each generation inherits the failures of the last.

Every choice made is the wrong one.

Nothing changes.


	7. Grey days

**Disclaimer: Bubbles taste sort of like pie. The ERs are packed at this time of the night. Anti-freeze is not the liquid version of a heater or an oven. It's not a fancy type of sauce.**

Grey days

Frost formed in the air, spiraling down. The earth-scented, frigid winds blew, nibbling promises of a coming storm. The world was faded...

Pale...

Painted grey...

My mind took flight and soared...

Unhampered by wings

And the limits of day

The damp, clear air

Loosened my grip on fragile reality

My shackles to a drab illusion.

Breathe.

Time moves at its own pace. We perceive it wrongly.

Dreams dream their own dreams. We live within them.

The sky seems empty yet cloudy. Sounds feel clearer... More quiet... Each a trickling note on a divine masterpiece. You can hear the songs... Sirenic... Harmonic...

Breathe.

The sky was grey, throwing all beneath from coloured to black and white into the light and state of calm, eternal contemplation.

Those days when the sun is clothed and it seems as if it might rain, but doesn't. When the world is quiet and time stands still. When it's breezy or windy, with the air damp and cold. When you could close your eyes and feel the tranquil movements of your thoughts... Grey days.

I love grey days.

Their clarity and decrease in celestial illumination...

Their meditative feel and breathless captivation...

Their feeling of desolate eternity...

Neither cradle nor grave...

Their emotional apathy...

No annoyances...

No disturbances...

No Dib...

No Zim...

No unwanted events...

Whether or not my eyes are closed...

I can see Existence.

I feel at peace.


End file.
